Date: Thu, 4 Mar 2004 07:32:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Balthazaro
Subject: Welcome to the Dorms 4
** college m/m, continuing story from part 3
This work is copyrighted by its author. It may not be
used without his express permission. Private
individuals are given permission to have one (1)
electronic and/or one (1) printed copy of this story.
Nifty is given permission to archive this work.
If stories about homosexual acts offend you, please
don't read it... I hate to cause conniptions. *grin*
If you like it (or don't like it) please let me know
at balthazaro@yahoo.com.
---------------
"Et caelum recessit sicut liber involutus et omnis
mons et insulae de locis suis motae sunt." (Rev 6:14)
***********
Life continued for the next few weeks, and my
equilibrium returned somewhat. Vincent and I seemed
to spend almost every waking moment together, although
we were in different classes. He was an English
major, headed for journalism; I was a computer science
major, headed for madness. As the days passed, we
continued to jack off together. At first, we would do
it in the morning before class, but in the interests
of sleeping in we started to do it in the evenings.
He would be sitting there in shorts and no shirt,
talking about something else, and suddenly he would
start rubbing himself. All I needed was to see that
telephone pole of a cock start to get hard, and lust
would fill me like fire. I never asked myself why; I
tried not to think about such things. The images of
him naked and stroking haunted me. I could see them
just behind my eyes when I was in class, when I was
running, everywhere. I knew that this wasn't really
"normal", but I avoided thinking about that too.
Everything else was different... why not this as well?
Who was to say that other roommates didn't interact
this way? Even so it began to bother me that I didn't
seem able to resist the urge to jack off with him,
even when (in my more lucid moments) I swore I wasn't
going to do it.
The truth was, I wasn't able to resist Vincent in
anything. He led; I followed. He wanted to join a
fraternity; I went with him. We went to Pi Kappa
Alpha twice, but a lot of the Pikas were rude to us;
we wandered through the Sigma Nu mixers, but they were
hardcore partyers. Finally we ended up at Sigma Alpha
Epsilon. SAE was OK and the guys were nice enough,
but it was fairly obvious to everyone that I was just
along for the ride. Many of them liked Vincent; his
brash outspokenness, foul mouth and great sense of
humor made him the life of the party. I was the
wallflower I had always been. Now, though, I had
something I had never had before - I was friends with
the one that everyone wanted to be with. For the
first time ever, I got to share some of the limelight
secondhand. It was definitely an improvement; at
least people were interacting with me and I was
learning not to feel like such a fifth wheel in social
situations.
The frat lifestyle was interesting. A lot of girls
hit on Vincent, some subtly, some not-so-subtly. I
felt very awkward at such moments, and I was always
somewhat afraid that he would take one of them up on
her offer, take her back to the room. The idea of it
made me feel like things were crawling inside my skin.
Where would I sleep? What would I do? How does a
planet deal with its sun going away, even if only for
a little while? Some of the girls even talked to me,
and Vincent always teased me when they did -- asking if
I wanted to use the room, or if I needed him to sleep
somewhere else. I would always flush and look away.
I meant to have a girlfriend, but it was always
something I was going to get around to doing; classes
were tougher than high school had been, and it was
easier following Vincent around than actually striking
out on my own... or so I told myself.
Although Vincent often complained about it loud and
long, somehow we always managed to go home alone.
Once we were back in the room, he would rhapsodize
long and loud about the girls we had seen and what he
would like to do to them... as we jerked off together.
He was still fascinated with watching me shoot, and
he made me stop trying to block it; I still hated to
clean up afterwards, but it seemed to give him such a
charge it was worth mopping up the mess. On some
level I knew I was becoming obsessed with him, but I
just thought of it as a close friendship. I had never
had a friend like Vincent before. Everything he did
seemed larger than life. When he came into a room,
every eye turned towards him, including mine.
By the time midterms rolled around, we were on pretty
good terms with the SAE guys. I knew Vincent was
going to get a "shake", as the invitations to join a
frat were called; I hoped I would get one as well. We
went to their parties and both of us seemed to be
fitting into life there. One thing that was
interesting, though, was their attitude towards
drinking. Unlike some of the frats we heard of, we
could only occasionally sneak a beer -- the monitors
were strict about such things, since frats were
constantly in danger of getting in serious trouble if
underage people were caught drinking. Vincent had
been allowed to drink wine with dinner at home, being
Italian; I had never had any alcoholic beverage before
coming to college. Neither of us had any tolerance
for alcohol worth mentioning, but everyone made such a
big deal out of it Vincent was eager to try it... and
of course I followed along.
The first Friday of midterms we went to a small
informal party in the frat house. The monitors
weren't there, since it wasn't an "official" party,
just a couple of the guys hanging out. When we showed
up, we were presented with cups of beer and given
strict instructions as to what to do with them if
anyone official showed up. We agreed, promising to
drink responsibly, not cause trouble, blah, blah,
blah.
Needless to say, we got drunk off our asses.
How we got home that night, I'll never know. I
vaguely remember the rambling walk back to our dorm,
each supporting the other. At one point we got lost
in the woods, which took some doing since they were
basically only a small grove of trees; we might have
spent the night there if they had been any larger. We
staggered up the steps to our floor, stopping
occasionally each time the world did a slow pinwheel
around us, then hurrying onward once it stopped. Once
we got there we careened down the hallway, bouncing
off the cinderblock corner, giggling and shushing each
other loudly. We were both mildly paranoid even in
our drunken stupor. Facing Scott in this condition
would be bad; listening to him give us one of his five
hour lecturing diatribes would be even worse.
Finally, after much careful ogling, peering and
aligning of the key and lock, we managed to get back
into our room with none the wiser. Almost falling in
the door, we both ended up on his bed because it was
nearest the door.
"Ya know, man," Vincent said, throwing his arm around
my neck where we sat on the edge of his bed, "you're a
fuckin' good friend, you know that?" His beery breath
washed over me, but I was past caring. We weren't
sick, just smashed; I was feeling very relaxed,
especially as the adrenaline rush of sneaking down the
hallway wore off. "You're my best bud. I always
wanted a friend like you."
"Me too," I agreed, wondering where this was going.
"I'm glad you're my roomie, Vincent."
"I'm glad too, Scott." His grin faded slowly as he
stared at me from only a foot away. I looked at him,
hypnotized as always by his blue eyes, so striking in
that olive-complected face. His thick black hair was
mussed from our adventures coming back to the dorm,
but he still looked gorgeous as ever. "I love you,
man." I didn't know what to think about this; the fog
of alcohol made me stupid, but suddenly I was
uncomfortably aware of being drunk in a way I hadn't
been a second ago. I wanted to think clearly; I
wanted to be fully here, fully aware of the moment,
because this was something I needed to pay attention
to. He leaned closer; before I realized what was
happening I felt that beautiful red mouth touch my
lips.
Suddenly I was stone-cold sober. Growing up, my
parents made me attend Bible study on a fairly regular
basis. Most of it wasn't terribly interesting, but
one passage always stuck with me. In the Revelation
of St. John the Divine, at the very end of the Bible,
in the End of Days, after the sixth trumpet, came the
words that described how I felt when Vincent's mouth
touched mine, when his tongue slipped between my
unresisting lips. It described exactly how I felt --
"And the sky shall roll up like a scroll."
Vincent pulled back for a second and looked at me; I
can't imagine the expression I must have had on my
face. Two tears ran down his perfect cheeks, across
those gorgeous high cheekbones I so badly wanted to
touch, and slid down his the column of his throat.
"Oh, fuck..." I heard him whisper. "I'm so sorry..."
He pulled back, blindly trying to get up, to go away
somewhere, to hide from me and from himself.
As for me, I wanted to fight. I wanted to scream. I
wanted to run away and explode into a thousand pieces,
to quiet the voices yelling in my head. I knew in a
flash of almost unbearable insight that this is where
we had been headed since the beginning, since I first
saw him standing in the doorway like a young god in
his temple. In one shining moment of gnosis,
everything was revealed to me. I saw, and seeing, I
understood. Self-knowledge unrolled through my head
in words of fire. I was gay, queer, homo, a faggot,
and in that shining moment I didn't care. I wanted
Vincent like I had never wanted anything in my young
life, certainly more than I had ever wanted any girl.
Fantasies compared to this like ashes compared to the
fire that made them. I wanted him like a plant wants
sunlight; he was what I had been waiting for without
even knowing it. My arms came up of their own
volition and wrapped around him to keep him from
moving. He turned back to me, his mouth open to say
something I didn't want to hear.
I kissed him. He tasted like lightning on my tongue,
and my hands finally ran through the thick, black
curls they had wanted to touch for so long.
Everything melded together. The line of his compact
body folded against me, and his eyes looking into mine
from only inches away struck me dumb with wonder. I
caressed his hair again, wondering at its silky
texture; I slid one finger down that tearstained
cheekbone, along that perfect chiseled nose, and
touched the softness of the lips that had woken me
from eighteen years of sleep. His hand reached up and
pressed against my chest, and suddenly with a growl he
was on me again.
We rolled around on his bed in a frenzy. Clothes got
ripped as we pulled off our t-shirts, yanked off our
shorts. In my more romantic moments, I would have
wanted to slowly undress each other, to reveal the
mysteries of the body, but this was primal need at
play. Our first union wasn't the slow and teasing
dance of Venus, slowly removing her veil, but rather
the ecstasy of Bacchus, violently erect in his dappled
fawn-skin, screaming in the wilderness. That
muscular, hairy chest I had watched through dozens of
masturbatory evenings was now mine to touch; I ran my
fingers through the short, bristly hairs. I nibbled
and licked at his hard brown nipples, making him hold
my head and moan out loud. He fought me as lovers
fight in the throes of passion -- wrestling, pulling,
probing with his tongue into my ear, along my eye,
down to my nipples where I found out why he had been
moaning and moaned myself in turn.
He lay on top of me on the bed, his chest pressed to
mine, his huge cock sticking several inches out of his
boxers and feeling like a bar of fire where it pressed
against my belly. He kissed me hard, lingering on my
lips, and I felt the room spin, uncertain whether lust
or alcohol was to blame. I reached up to press him to
me again, but he shook off my arms. His lips touched
my chin, sliding over the rough beard there, down my
throat. He nibbled at my nipples again, first the
right, then the left. I felt his hands slide along my
sides and I almost screamed from the intensity of the
sensation. Normally it would have tickled, but
everything was erotic now. His tongue slid along the
edge of my navel and I grabbed him by the ears,
mumbling incoherently "Oh... you... oh god...
Vincent..."
He looked up at me, and I almost burst into tears.
His eyes were wide open, and his soul looked out at me
clearly through those glowing blue orbs. "I love you,
Scott..." he whispered again. I felt his hands
sliding into the waistband of my boxers, pulling them
down. My hard dick sprang up, almost smacking him in
the face. I couldn't believe this was happening.
"Vincent..." I murmured. "You don't have to..." just
as those petal-soft lips enfolded the head of my cock.
"Oh my god..." His tongue slid along the underside
of my curved shaft, slipping from the groove in my
cockhead all the way down the prominent tube on the
bottom of my prick. A rush went over me, and I almost
came in that split second of surprise; watching his
beautiful mouth enfold my straining penis, my mind was
completely blank. This was better than anything; all
I could do was laugh, because I had thought
masturbation was the best thing I had ever felt, and
compared to this masturbation was a candle to the Sun.
He looked up at me quizzically. "Why are you
laughing?" he asked self-consciously. "Did I do
something wrong?"
"No baby, god no... you're perfect, it's wonderful,
you're so fucking beautiful..." I couldn't even
formulate a clear sentence. He smiled softly like a
little boy, reassured more by my tone than what I
said, and slipped my glistening shaft back into his
mouth. Suddenly, he stopped and sat up in bed.
"What did you say?" he asked, an incredulous tone to
his voice.
"Huh? What?" I was overcome with confusion. My
cock, still wet with his spit, bobbed in the air
angrily, wondering where that wonderful sensation had
gone.
"What did you just say to me?" He was smiling, so I
wasn't as nervous as I had been, but still I was
puzzled.
"I said you were beautiful..." I replied, looking into
his eyes. I felt myself blushing, but there wasn't
much point in being embarrassed now. "You are, you
know."
"No, man, you said I was FUCKING beautiful..." He
chuckled softly. "That's the first time I've ever
heard you cuss." He leaned over and kissed me hard,
pressing his lips into mine so closely I could feel
his teeth through his lips. He muttered "And I think
you're fucking beautiful too." Heat rolled through me
again like a wave.
I wrapped my arms around him and rolled him over. He
looked up at me, but light dawned when I pulled his
boxers down and that giant horsecock flopped on his
stomach. I felt worried at its size, but I wanted it
so bad. I licked the end, where a clear bead of
precum was drooling down the side of the head. His
soft sigh was all the encouragement I needed. I
opened my mouth wide and slid down over his head. His
enormous prick felt strange, pressing into the roof of
my mouth, but it tasted like everything I had ever
wanted. His hand came up and caressed the back of my
head as I fought to get my mouth over as much of this
pole as I could. I had never really thought about
doing this before... I know I probably wasn't very
good. I gagged, cursing myself because I wanted all
of it in me. I forced it against my throat again and
again, trying to make it fit. Vincent whimpered under
me as I slid my lips up and down. I wrapped my right
hand around what I couldn't get in my mouth, and he
moaned loudly the first time I slid my hand up and
down so I kept doing that. After only a minute or
two, he grabbed my wrist and said "Stop!"
"Did I do something..." I didn't even get to finish
the sentence.
"I was about to cum, and I've got something I want to
do first." He pulled me back up on the bed and
whipped around so that his face was level with my
cock. When his lips slid over the rim of my head and
down the shaft, I knew immediately that I was in
trouble.
"Vincent, uh..." He kept up his sucking action,
wrapping his tongue around my dick at each upstroke.
I couldn't take much of this and I knew it. "Vincent,
man, I'm gonna shoot soon... if you don't... uh...
oh... Vincent, I'm gonna cum..." He kept on like a
madman. I thought he couldn't hear me and I was about
to pull him off me. He glanced up at me, and seeing
the expression in his eyes I knew. I remembered that
first morning, and always would. I knew what he
wanted. Giving in, I let the sensation sweep through
me like a tornado on the plains. As the first spasm
wrapped the base of my spine in its burning fingers, I
gasped "cumming". The first shot was fired in his
mouth; he choked, and then he pulled off me and stared
at my cock from a distance of less than six inches.
The second shot painted his cheek with white jizz, and
the third and fourth shots went all over his face and
hair. He was panting and moaning softly as I shot,
wiping his fingers across his chin and stroking his
own massive meat with my sperm as lubricant. When I
was finished he was dripping with cum, bathed in white
jizz, and the slapping sound of him stroking his cock
was loud in the room.
I heard him make that "unh!" sound that I had come to
know so well in the past few weeks. I dragged him up
onto the bed as he was shooting and wrapped my lips
around the end of his shaft. His cum was slightly
bitter, exploding across my tastebuds, and it was the
best taste in the world to me. He cried out in
surprise at the sudden sensation and I realized I was
moaning myself... my mouth was full of the taste of
Vincent, my nose was full of his scent, my hands were
full of his perfect, rounded ass. Vincent filled me
up and completed me. When he was finished, I
swallowed what was in my mouth and kissed the end of
his cock gently, admiring it where it lay exhausted
along the line of his hip.
I crawled up onto the bed with him and kissed him
gently. He looked at me guiltily and started to say
something, but I put my finger over his lips. I
couldn't bear for him to break the spell. I knew that
this was probably going to be the beginning of a lot
of strangeness; I had a lot to deal with, Vincent had
a lot to deal with, and god knew how we were going to
make our peace with this tomorrow. For now, though,
just being next to him was enough. We fell asleep
there, drenched in cum, feeling safe as baby birds in
a nest even with the next day hanging over us like the
sword of Damocles.